Living in 221b
by Lovely whim
Summary: Diane Blacke moves in with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. She finds that she and Sherlock are actually a lot alike. Sherlock and O/C. Eventual romance.
1. Chapter 1- 221b Baker street

**_Hello! So the setting is right after The Blind Banker. I'm going to try and update once a week, but if it takes me longer just message me and tell me to hurry up. I adore reviews. I live on them. Reviews keep me alive to write the stories. Keep 'em coming. As usual, I own nothing, just my character, Diane. Enjoy lovelies!_** **:)**

I took a deep breath, bracing myself before knocking on the door of 221 Baker street. I had spoken over the phone to an Mrs. Hudson about a flatshare and she said she had a room left in 221b I could have. After straightening up and tucking an unruly curl of my short dark brown hair behind my ear, I hopped up on the step and knocked. An old woman whom I guessed was Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"Oh hello dear! Diane, am I right?" She said.

"Hi! Yes I'm Diane. We spoke over the phone about a room?" I answered while shaking her hand.

"Ah yes. Come in and I"ll show you up."

"Ok" I replied as I grabbed my bags and followed her in.

As we went up the stairs I absentmindedly counted how many there were. 17. Good to know. Mrs. Hudson knocking brought me away from my thoughts.

"Boys, it's me and Diane. Remember, she's taking the spare room." We heard a grunt and shuffling before a short man in a jumper with greyish-blonde hair opened the door.

"Oh, hi. I'm John." He smiled.

"Diane Blacke." I shook his hand.

Seems nice, I thought. Must've spent some time in the military going by his stance and haircut. Somewhere where he could get a tan...

"Uh, come on in." He opened the door wider.

"Thank you." I smiled back as me an Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Here, let me take those bags." He took them before I could protest and set them by a large stack of Guns and Ammo magazines. Huh, interesting.

It was then that I noticed another man sitting in an armchair facing the kitchen. He had dark, curly hair that came down on on side of his forehead, sweeping across his brow. He also had exceptionally high cheekbones and the most beautiful blue-grey-green eyes I had ever seen. After a good thirty seconds I realized I was staring, but the odd thing was, he was staring right back at me. And I might be wrong, but he almost looked flabbergasted at the sight of me, his mouth slightly open. He covered it up quickly though, his face going back to emotionless. He stood up and walked over to us, straightening his suit.

"Sherlock Holmes." He shook my hand.

"Diane Blacke." I said, looking up at him. He wasn't much taller than me, maybe two inches.

"Come on dear, I'll show you the room." Mrs. Hudson reminded me.

"Oh, yes." I replied, following her back behind the kitchen to a hallway with three doors, John and Sherlock behind me.

"This is it." She said, opening the door to the right. "The bathroom is the room opposite yours and Sherlocks room is the room straight ahead. John sleeps upstairs."

I looked around, taking everything in. So my bedroom is the one next to the handsome Sherlocks bedroom. He seems like an interesting flatmate. I walked into my room and looked around. It was pretty decent sized. The walls were a light blue and there was a bed in the far left corner beside the window. A good sized wardrobe and a closet.

"I will take it!" I exlaimed turning back to Mrs. Hudson. It was a very good deal for what I was getting, even though I really don't have to worry about money, as I came from a well off family and don't have to work much. Or at all really.

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I'll leave you to unpacking then. And I'll bring up a cuppa later, but just this once dear, I'm not your house keeper.

"Ok, thank you." I answered, chuckling at her 'not your house keeper' bit. I walked out with her, about to retrieve my bags, when Sherlock came by, carrying my bags!

"Um, thanks." I said, watching him turn into my hummed an response. As I started to walk back over to my bedroom, I noticed John was watching Sherlock as well, looking confused.

"He doesn't seem to be one who would help out like that." I remarked to John, who was still looking confused.

"No, he's not." John stated. "He must like something about you."

I blushed slightly before looking away.

"He's just being nice." I insisted.

"If you say so." He grinned before returning to his seat.

I shook my head and went back into my room, where Sherlock was just opening one of my bags, which were set on the bed.

"You have an index for all of your clothes." He remarked, unzipping the other bag.

"Well, yeah. I do odd things like that." I blushed, wishing he hadn't seen my underwear index, that was on top.

"I do it too." Sherlock confessed.

"Oh really." I laughed.

"Yes." His cheek twitched as if he were trying not to smile as well.

"Well, I'm going to unpack now. Thanks for bringing my bags in."

He walked out without replying. I sighed then carefully went about to unpacking, putting all the stacks of clothes in order in the wardrobe.

About an hour later, I walked back out to the living room, where I saw the two men back in their chairs, John on his laptop and Sherlock reading an old book. I also noticed tea Mrs. Hudson must had brought up and helped myself. As I sat in a chair that was closer to Sherlock I looked over at the mantelpiece and found a skull staring back at me.

"Is that a real skull?" I asked before taking a sip of my tea.

"Yes. Friend of mine." Sherlock replied without taking his eyes off his book, which he obviously wasn't reading.

"Does he have a name?" I wondered, slightly amused, both at the skull and at Sherlock.

"Billy." Sherlock looked over at the skull and the back at me.

"Nice name." I said getting up and getting a closer look. "Hi Billy." I smiled at the skull. John looked over at me with a glint of humor in his eye.

"You two should get along well." He grinned.

"I guess so." I smiled back at him.

"Oh, I forgot to ask earlier, Afghanistan or Iraq?" I turned to face John, who was staring at me, mouth wide open. I turned to look at Sherlock, who also looked quite surprised.

"What?" John asked.

"You were in the army, I was just wondering-Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John cleared his throat before answering. "Afghanistan."

"Oh." I said. "Are you still working as a doctor too?" John looked up, astounded again. I heard Sherlock chuckle behind me.

"Erm, yes. In a clinic."

"Ah." I said. "I'm sorry about your shoulder." I added.

John looked at me, then at Sherlock,then back to me again.

"Did you tell her anything?" John asked Sherlock, who was still chuckling.

"Nope."

"Well then, I guess we've found someone else like you, even though she's nicer."

"What?" I asked, starting to get confused.

"Sherlock does that same thing. Where you deduct peoples past by observing them and all that." John answered me.

"Oh." I said, excited. "I thought so."

"You thought so." Sherlock said, much deeper than his normal tone, as he stood up, inches away fro my face.

"Yes." I replied, standing my ground, keeping eye contact.

"And what else do you 'think'?" He asked.

I looked at him before answering. "You come from a wealthy family as well. You really don't like your older brother, you play violin, you conduct many useless scientific experiments when you're bored, and you consider yourself an high-functioning sociopath but you really aren't." "Most of that however, I got from looking around the flat, you are a very hard person to read, Mr. Holmes."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed, amusement and curiosity in his blue-grey (at the moment) eyes looking back down into my own dark blue-green ones.

I was about to walk away when he grabbed my arm.

"Do you like solving murders, Ms. Blacke?" He asked with a glint in his eye.

"Love to." I truthfully answered, starting to feel giddy inside.

"John!" Sherlock turned me to him. "We have a new assistant!" Sherlock grinned at him then at me, both of us, in turn grinned back.


	2. Chapter 2- An Interesting night at 221b

**_Hey guys! So first, I want to thank everyone who has followed/favorited this story. It truly means a lot to me. So thank you... bless you! (catch my reference, eh eh!) By the way, happy #Believe day! (even though that was technically yesterday) I wrote 221b on my wrist because I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES! Ok... please please PLEASE review! It makes my little heart so happy :) So as usual... DISCLAIMER! I most certainly do not own Sherlock. And IF I did, we would have wayy more episodes and seasons. Enjoy! Ps. EXCITING NEWS BELOW*_**

A hour or two later, we had all settled back to what we were doing. After of course, a detailed discussion with Sherlock on what he does and how he does it. He also asked me on the extent of my abilities, which he seemed very pleased with. Most of it was quite intriguing to me, but I saw John roll his eyes once or twice when Sherlock was telling me how he does his work. Now I was reading the book Sherlock had been reading, which he had thrown to the floor after muttering 'Dull' and gone to get a different one, which he was reading now. John is tapping away at his laptop at a sickeningly slow pace, which I can see is annoying Sherlock as well. Finally John shuts his laptop, and I swear I heard Sherlock sigh a breath of relief, which he confirms by looking at me and rolling his eyes, making me snicker. John looks between us both before saying,

"Well, it is dinner time, and I don't know about you two but I am starving."

"I'm a bit peckish myself, Sherlock?"

"Mmmm... yes. Chinese?" He says, slamming his book shut.

"I'll call..." John begins to say but is cut off by Sherlock.

"Lets just order and pick it up there. They got my order wrong last time. There's a good place down the street." He said, to me mostly.

"Yeah, they only got it wrong because you spoke too fast for anyone over the phone to hear you! John replied. "Plus, your order was ridiculously complicated!"

Sherlock frowned at him then turned back to me.

"Did you know that you can tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle?"

"Yes, I did actually." I smirked at him. "Down the street you say?" I asked while putting on my coat.

"Erm, yes." Sherlock came over and got his coat. "Coming John?"

"Yep." John sighed and followed behind us.

As we went out the front door I took more notice of Sherlock's trench coat, which I fell in love with immediately.

"Nice coat."

"Thank you." He turned the collar up and cast a glance at me, as if he were trying to see my reaction. John must have noticed too because I heard him mutter 'Showoff' beside me. I suppressed a grin and kept walking, the cold air making me hungrier.

Once we got there, me and John had to wait forever for Sherlock to finish his order before getting to order ourselves. As we went to sit with him I noticed that he has wiped the table down and had a pile of napkins ready to take back home. It was really quite funny, to see him with his hands folded on top of the napkins, wearing his suit and trench coat in this small Chinese restaurant. And the fact that he cleaned the table made it all even funnier. John gave me an look when I started to giggle as we sat down and Sherlock started to look confused. I stopped myself and it was quiet for a while until Sherlock decided to tell us about the two-hundred forty-three types of tobacco ash. Finally, at ash number 86, the food was done, and it wasn't ready to-go.

I groaned as I walked through the door to our flat. We had just decided to eat in the restaurant and, being the lazy people we are, the three of us ate all of the food there so we wouldn't have to carry any home (mostly Sherlock's idea, however) and we were all definitely regretting it. I walked straight to my bedroom and got into bed, not bothering to change or shut the door, and by the sounds of it, neither did Sherlock. I fell asleep almost immediately after the light turned off.

It was still dark out when I woke up, probably four or five in the morning. I saw my door was pulled almost shut, and a soft light was coming through the crack. I also heard music coming from Sherlock's room. Feeling much better, I decided to investigate and walked over to Sherlock's room. The door was wide open and I saw Sherlock, in a grey t-shirt and pajama pants, with a blue silk robe on, dancing, hands in the air as if he had a partner to 'Brahms:Waltz#15 In A Flat, Op. 39.' I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. After a few seconds, he turned and noticed me. I watched him turn red and pause the music with a smile on my face.

"So, you like to dance" I smiled at him.

"Ermm, yes. Really I quite enjoy it. You?" He looked at me curiously.

"Umm, well yes, I took some lessons when I was younger. I was pretty good." I told him, trying to hide the fact that I too, immensely enjoy dancing.

"Would you like to join me? It's much nicer when you have a real partner." He held out his hand.

"Well, if you insist." I laughed and took his hand, and he pulled me into a twirl, which I took gracefully.

Sherlock turned the radio back on to the beginning of the piece playing earlier and put his other hand on my waist, which sent nerves down my spine. We then waltzed around the room in complete unison, which was really very impressive.

"You can't sleep?" I asked him after a good thirty seconds of dancing.

"No. This piece has a calming effect on me so I decided to give it a try."

"Ah"

We danced in silence after the song had ended just to finish the dance, which Sherlock ended with a dip. He was surprisingly much stronger than I thought he was.

He let go of me and walked over to a little CD collection beside the dresser the radio was on top of.

"You want to pick something?" He asked me.

"Oh, ok." I answered, surprised that he hadn't kicked me out of his room yet.

I walked closer to the rack and scanned it. "You own AC/DC?" I exclaimed.

He looked uncomfortable. "Yes..."

I smiled while continuing to look at his collection. "This one, first song. It's my favorite." I pulled out a CD and handed it to him. He raised his eyebrows. "Ray Lamontagne, Trouble. Good choice, not one of my favorites but I enjoy it when I'm in the right mood." "Why is this your favorite song?"

I smirked at him. "Because he says he's been saved by a woman."

Sherlock smirked back. "Makes sense." He put the disc in and started it, then turned to me and bowed with a flourish. I smiled and took his hand and we started to dance gracefully again.

"So," I asked him, with a glimmer of mischief. "Are you in the right mood for this song at the moment?"

He was quiet for a moment, then answered- "I am know."

"Hmm..." I hummed. He moved closer to me.

"I'm glad you moved in,Diane. It gets boring with John about, being normal." He smiled down at me.

"I'm glad too. Normal can be boring." I laughed.

"Plus you'll be an good asset to have while solving crimes." He added.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to that." I looked up at him. He seemed to have gotten excited at that.

"There's something I'm looking into later today in Minsk, Belarus, if you want to come."

"Of course!" The song had ended now, and I was actually sleepy. "I think I may go to bed now, get a few more hours of sleep."

"Yes, I will as well." He let go of me and walked with me to his door. I turned to him.

"Good night Sherlock Holmes." I reached up and kissed him on the cheek and walked back to my room. Just before I shut my door I heard him whisper,

"Good night Diane Blacke."

 _ **Ok so it was kind of dull, I know. But the end got a bit juicy, didn't it? Next chapter will be loaded, I promise! By the way, did you get my ever so slight Torchwood reference? I think it may happen again to... Anyways to the EXCITING NEWS! You can follow me on Instagram now! My user name is lovely_whim and you can DM me and we can be friends. Plus you'll get cool pictures of me writing and more, I mean, what could be better! (basically everything, I know) I'm also on Tumblr as Lovely whim, good fun there too. Love ya 3 :)**_


	3. Chapter 3- The Great Game no1

_**Hi, sorry this is late, I got terribly sick :p I made it extra long to make up for it though. OK, so I saw some setlock photos today and I am DYING! I need to know what's going on! Anyways, a HUGE thank you to every one who has reviewed-followed-favorited this story. I love you all! I'm open to suggestions but I am also picky so your idea MAY not be used. No offence, just me. Keep reviewing for me please! I totally love nothing more than your reviews!**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock, only people who like to break our hearts do. I only own my character Diane Blacke. BTW what do you guys think of her? Good things, I hope. Enjoy lovelies! :)**_

 _ **...**_

I lay in bed for a while after waking up, thinking of earlier with Sherlock. He had been so different from usual, nicer. Polite even. He had _danced_ with me for God's sake! I don't even remember how I agreed to that, we just met! He had even invited me to go with him on a case! But I feel like I've known him for years. However, what keeps staying in main focus of my thoughts is his answer to my question.

 _'So, are you in the right mood for this song at the moment?'_

 _'I am now.'_

What did he mean? I didn't have much more time to dwell on this because, just then, my door opened about an inch and I saw a turquoise eye peeking in at me. It was now that I realized I was wearing nothing but a blue pair of under-pants and an over-sized t-shirt. I flushed a bit and pulled the blanket up more.

"I was just going to wake you up, if you weren't already so." The owner of the turquoise eye said, after doing an awful lot of blinking. I wondered if he had ever seen a woman half dressed before.

"Ok, thanks Sherlock." I replied while pulling the sheet up and wrapping myself in it, then walking to the door.

I opened it a few more inches and must have surprised him, because he let go of the handle as if it were on fire and backed up a bit. I held in the urge to laugh at the Detective, he looked a bit scared.

"What time are we leaving at?" I asked, making myself look as serious as I could.

"Oh, errrrmm in three hours from now, so... Ten. Our flight leaves at eleven."

"Ok, so we'll get there around two?"

"Yep." Sherlock went to walk away but then turned back to me, looking like he was calculating something.

"Pack only for overnight, and if you're worried about paying for the flight, don't. We're taking my brother, Mycroft's, private jet." He grinned and walked into the bathroom. I walked back into my room, wondering about this Mycroft. What does he do that gives him a private jet? My deduction was that he probably has some position in the government or something. I sighed then went about to getting dressed and packing, my thoughts going back to why I was going to Minsk, Belarus with a man I just met.

...

After getting dressed and packing I realized that I should shower, groaning at my forgetfulness, I grabbed a towel from my stuff and opened my door. I walked out into the hallway and instantly saw that, apparently, Sherlock was STILL in the bathroom. I took a glance at my phone and saw that it had been forty minutes since he went in there. Is this how long he usually takes? I knocked on the door.

"Sherlock, are you _really_ still in there?" I heard the water that was running stop.

"Yes." He answered. Then silence.

"Well, are you going to be out soon?" I asked, starting to chuckle at the idea of just walking in and scaring him.

"I know what you're thinking, don't you **_dare_** do it. I'll be out in five minutes." He growled, but I heard some laughter being held back.

"Ok, five minutes then I'm coming in." I warned. I walked out into the kitchen and stuck a slice of bread into the toaster, still chuckling. I looked out into the living room and saw John laughing as well. He noticed me.

"He's always like that. I guess those curls of his can't be natural." John told me, still laughing.

"I guess so!" I said, then turned back to my toast.

...

Exactly five minutes later, Sherlock did come out.

"All yours." He grumbled to me as he got a cup of tea.

"Thank you." I laughed sarcastically, looking over at him, which quickly took my laugh away.

Sherlock was wearing a tight suit as usual but the jacket wasn't on yet, which gave me a complete view of his dress shirt. A dark purple dress shirt. Against his alabaster skin the shirt made him quite a sight to see, the dress shirt tight as well and showing off considerable muscle. I couldn't help but stare. He turned around and I coughed, hoping he wouldn't notice my attraction to him and his shirt. He didn't, thank goodness.

I stood up and brought my plate over to the sink, the same spot where Sherlock was leaning against the counter, sipping his tea. I pretended not to notice he was in the way, set my plate down by the moldy mugs, and went to the bathroom.

Once safely in the bathroom with the door shut, I face palmed and shook my head.

How are you attracted to him? You're never attracted to anyone! Plus you've just met him, what has gotten into you? I thought to myself before getting into the shower, hoping that, maybe the hot water would wash my worries away.

...

An hour and a half later we pulled up to a small jet. A man with an umbrella I figured was Mycroft was standing by the stairs, looking very posh.

"Hello brother dear." He said smugly after we walked over. "And Diane I presume. Heard a lot about you." He smiled at me creepily.

I smiled back, not intimidated by the least of this man. "Hello, I suppose you are Mycroft."

"Hmm, she does catch on fast." Mycroft smiled the same at his brother, who looked annoyed.

"I didn't think you were going to see us off, Mycroft." Sherlock spat out.

"I just wanted to meet your new friend. John's not coming with you?"

"No, he has a boring job he has to stick to. Now if you'll excuse us, consulting awaits." Sherlock grabbed my wrist and pulled me as fast as he could up the stairs into the plane with him, leaving behind us an annoyed Mycroft.

Once we had settled into our seats Sherlocks phone made a horrible screech.

"Mycroft texted." He explained to me.

"Oh my god, that's your text alert for him?" I laughed, Sherlock can be very childish. He smirked, at me or his phone I don't know.

"He wishes us a safe trip, and says it was a pleasure to meet you." He said.

"Do I want to know what you replied on my behalf?" I asked him, knowing very well he said something obnoxiously rude.

"No."

We both laughed.

...

We arrived at the prison three hours later. Sherlock somehow knew one of the guards and spoke to him in Russian. I only heard a few words here and there, having learned the basics when I was younger. They spoke about a prisoner and then the guard said 'This way' and I was swept along into a large room filled with metal tables and chairs; the prison visitors room. We sat down at one of the tables and another guard brought a young man out. Sherlock glanced at the man and all of a sudden his expression changed from interested to bored. The man sat down and was about to say something but Sherlock spoke first.

"Just tell me what happened, from the beginning." I looked over at Sherlock, even his voice sounded bored. I know why he's bored-the man obviously was guilty of killing his girlfriend. This whole visit will have been a waste of time. I felt my expression change too. Why are we here anyways? Mycroft, probably

The young man speaking pulled me out of my thoughts.

"We'd been to a bar-a nice place-and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?"

Sherlock sighed a deliberate and noisy breath and I had to cough to stop from laughing. The young man glanced at me then went on.

"She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man."

" _Wasn't_ a real man." Sherlock corrected, much to my amusement.

"What?" The young man asked, confused.

"It's not 'weren't'; it's 'wasn't'."

The young man still looked confused. "Oh."

Sherlock sighed. "Go on." It was just now I realized how freezing it was in here. I slyly tried to scoot closer to Sherlock and his Belstaff, which he hopefully didn't notice. The man went on.

"Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knifes."

I noticed Sherlock glance at the young mans hands.

"He learned us how to cut up a beast." The man went on. I inwardly face palmed.

"Taught." Sherlock and I corrected in unison. Sherlock looked over at me.

"What?" The young man said, starting to get angry.

" _Taught_ you how to cut up a beast." Sherlock stated.

"Yeah, well, then-then I done it."

I sighed.

"Did it." Both of us corrected again.

"DID IT! Stabbed 'er..." The young man lost his temper and started to slam his hand on the table.

"...Over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't..."

Sherlock sighed loudly and looked away. I held in a groan.

"... Wasn't, movin' no more." The man continued.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed again.

"...Anymore." The young man corrected himself and let out a shaky breath.

"You've gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear."

Sherlock got up and started to walk away, I followed closely behind him.

The young man called after us. "You've _gotta_ help me, Mr. Holmes!" We stopped.

"Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this." The man pleaded.

I rolled my eyes.

"No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all." So that was the young mans name. I then glanced at Sherlock, just realizing what he had said.

Sherlock looked away then back at Mr. Berwick. " _Hanged_ , yes." He smiled at Mr. Berwick then started to walk away again. I started to laugh as I followed him out the door. He started to chuckle as well.

"What an idiot." He said.

"Yes, he was." I agreed.

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked.

"Starving."

"Lets see if we can find some good Belarusian food."

I laughed. "Lets see, then."

...

We got to the hotel we were staying in for the night at seven, having roamed around Minsk for a while, looking for food then just exploring around the area. It had been fun. We deduced people in the restaurant, trying to see who could get more information first. Plus John wasn't there, so we weren't being told not to be rude.

I looked around the hotel a bit while Sherlock signed in.

"Here's the key. Have fun!" The old man at the desk winked at us.

"Oh! No, we, we're not a couple." I told the old man, who just smiled.

"Come on Diane." Sherlock was waiting by an elevator. I walked over.

The elevator door opened and Sherlock rushed inside it, pushing the button as soon as he could. I wonder if he's just impatient or if he wanted to press the button. I'll never know.

...

Our room was small but somehow two twin sized beds fit in it, about three feet in between them. I set my bag on the bed further away from the door and pulled out my pajamas. I had packed the most modest pair I owned, for both my and Sherlocks sake. I turned around and saw Sherlock still standing by the other bed, looking a bit nervous.

"You ok?" I asked him.

"Err, yes. I've just never shared a room with anyone before, that's all."

"Ah. Well, can I use the bathroom first this time?" I joked.

"Oh, of course." He already looked more comfortable. I went to change and brush my teeth.

When I was in the middle of brushing my teeth, I heard a knock a the door.

"Yesh?" I said, toothbrush still in my mouth.

"Can I come in to brush my teeth too? That way we'll both be done at the same time so one of us won't bother the other."

"Um, sure." I answered after spitting, opening the door to see Sherlock in his pajamas too, holding a bright turquoise toothbrush.

He came in and started to brush his teeth and I went back to mine. I finished before him and cleaned up a bit. Sherlock then finished as well and we walked out into the room.

I climbed into bed and turned so I was facing his bed and saw him facing me as well.

"So why did you take this case, today?" I asked him, really wondering why.

"Mycroft. A ride in his jet sounded fun, but don't tell him I said that."

I laughed. "It was fun. Maybe on the ride back home we'll get complimentary champagne."

"I wouldn't hold that above him." Sherlock chuckled.

It was only eight but we both went to sleep anyways, having to wake up early in the morning for our flight home.

...

I opened my eyes again later to find Sherlock standing over me, watching me.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" I asked him, surprised.

"Shh." He hushed me, putting a finger to my lips and bending down so that our noses were almost touching. He took his finger away from my lips and kissed me, soft, warm and smoothly, still tasting a bit minty from brushing his teeth. I moaned and pulled him closer...

And then I woke up. Confused, I sat up and looked over at Sherlocks bed. He was fast asleep. I glanced at the clock. One in the morning. I sighed and fell back into bed.

...

When I woke up again, it was to the alarm I set. I turned it off and got out of bed. Sherlock was still asleep. I walked over to him and was about to wake him up when I remembered my dream.

 _"Oh god"_ I whispered. Trying to shake the memory away, I went back to waking Sherlock up. I shook him, nothing.

"Sherlock, up." I shook him again, nothing. "Oh dear lord" I walked over to the other side of the bed, remembering how I used to wake my brother up.

I jumped onto the empty side of the bed as hard as I could, making Sherlock almost roll off.

"Agghh!" He rolled to the side I was on, his eyes wide. I jumped back down to the floor.

"What the HELL was that!" He yelled. I tried to answer but couldn't because I was laughing too hard.

Once I could finally breathe, All I could say was:

"Lets not have a 'Ding-dong', shall we?" I started laughing again.

That was too much for Sherlock, who got up and lunged at me but got tangled in his sheets. He started to laugh too.

I walked over to him and helped him up. "Sorry Sherlock, I weren't tryin' to hurt ya. I swear." I started to laugh at myself again.

"Oh you think you're so funny don't you." He grumbled, holding back a smile.

"Come on then, time to get ready." I said, being serious again, then dashing to the bathroom before he could.

...

Five hours later, we were back in London, all unpacked and back to normal. Sort of. As soon as Sherlock had unpacked he had texted an Lestrade. Apparently a D.I. he knows. Asking if they had found any murders. Soon after learning that no, no one had died, Sherlock had changed back into his pajamas and blue silk dressing gown and started to mope around. John was out at work still, thank goodness, he probably would've lost his nerve with us, because I too am bored. So two very annoying geniuses sat around, being bored. Sherlock got up and played his violin for a while. Trying to play what sounded like Trouble, by Ray LaMontagne, the song I had picked out when we danced. But when I asked him about it, he immediately stopped and slunk down into the couch again.

I sank deeper into the chair I was in, deciding to go into my Mind Palace. When I came back out, it was darker in the room and I could smell paint. I got up and watched as Sherlock finished spray painting a yellow smiley face on the wall. I snorted out a laugh when he hopped off the couch and smiled back at his creation. Sherlock then slammed the can of spray paint down on the table and walked over to a cabinet. After expertly picking the lock, he pulled a gun out and walked over to me.

"How good is your aim?" He asked.

"Good." I answered.

"Prove it?" He handed the gun to me questionably. I took it and shot the smiley face's eye from where we were standing, a good eight feet away.

"Hmm. Where'd you learn to aim so well?"

"Clay pigeons." I told him, going back to John's chair, watching him settle into his, flipping the gun.

He shot the wall twice, not looking. He sighed then shot the wall twice more. All of a sudden John came running up, hands covering his ears.

"What the _hell_ are you doing!?" He yelled. Looking at us, then the wall.

"Bored." Sherlock sulked. I smirked.

John squinted at him. "What?"

"BORED!" Sherlock jumped up and shot the wall again, then twisted his arm behind his back and shot the wall again.

"BORED! Bored!" He glared at the wall. John hurried over and took the gun away from him. I chuckled.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."

John faintly smiled and put the gun in the safe on the dining room table.

"So you take it out on the wall."

"Ah, the wall had it coming. And Diane shot the wall too you know." He flopped onto the couch. I glared at him.

"What?" John looked at me.

I looked away and tried not to make eye contact.

John sighed. "What about that Russian case?"

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder..."

"..Not worth our time." I finished for Sherlock, who looked over at me, annoyed.

"Ah, shame!" John said sarcastically. "Anything in? I'm starving." He opened the fridge. I winced, knowing what he'll see.

"Oh! f..." He slammed the door then opened it again. "It's a head." I heard him whisper. "A severed head!" he yelled as he walked into the living room again.

"Just tea for us, thanks." Sherlock answered. I chuckled.

"No, there's a head in the fridge." John explained.

"Yes."

"A bloody head!" John yelled.

"Well where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind do you? Diane didn't."

John groaned.

"I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death." Sherlock explained as John sat down in the chair in front of me.

"I see you've written up the taxi driver case." I smiled, remembering reading it with Sherlock earlier.

"Uh, yes."

"A Study in Pink, nice" Sherlock went on.

"Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone-there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

"I did." I smiled at John, trying to make up for what I knew was Sherlocks answer, having already heard a lot of it.

John smiled back.

"Erm, no." Sherlock said from behind a magazine.

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

I sighed, knowing what was coming.

Sherlock lowered his magazine and glared at him."Flattered? 'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in 's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.' "

I put my face in my hands.

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a..." John tried but was cut off.

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a _nice_ way. Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister, or who's sleeping with who..."

"Whether the earth goes around the sun..." John half whispered. At this I snickered a bit.

"Not that again. It's not _important_!" Sherlock yelled.

"Not impor... It's primary school stuff! How can you not know that?! John asked.

"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it." Sherlock pressed his palms on his eyes.

"Deleted it?"

Sherlock sat up. "Listen." He pointed at his head. "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful... _really_ useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

"I agree with Sherlock." I spoke up looking at John. Sherlock nodded smugly.

"But its the solar system!" John yelled.

Sherlock buried his head in his hands. "Oh hell! What does that matter?! So we go around the Sun! If we went around the moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear..."

I laughed again, not able to contain it any longer.

"...It wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots." He ruffled his curls irritably. "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." He turned to face the couch and curled into a ball, wrapping his dressing gown around himself, starting to pout.

John stood up and put his jacket back on, getting ready to leave again.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock turned his head.

"Out. I need some air." John walked out, almost walking into Mrs. Hudson, who was coming up the stairs.

"Ooh ooh!" Mrs. Hudson called as she walked in. Sherlock stretched back out on the couch.

"You two had a little domestic?" She asked.

"Oh no Mrs. Hudson, they like to call them 'ding-dongs' now." I told her, containing a smile.

"Oh, well." She put a couple of shopping bags on the kitchen table.

Sherlock stood up and stepped on the coffee table on his way to the window, smirking at me.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Mrs. Hudson stated.

"Look at that Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful." He sighed. "Isn't it just _hateful_?"

"Oh I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock." She said.

"A nice murder, that'll cheer you, and probably me, up." I added, walking over beside him.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she started to walk back towards the door.

"Can't come too soon." Sherlock said wistfully.

Just then Mrs. Hudson noticed the wall. "Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall?!"

Sherlock quirked a smile and turned to admire his handiwork.

"I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" She angrily told him and then stormed down the stairs.

Sherlock smiled widely at the smiley face, then turned to wink at me. He was about to say something when a massive explosion went off behind him and threw him into me,sending both of us flying across the living room.

Then everything went black.

...

 _ **Whoo! (stretches arms) There you go! I apologize for any mistakes I made with the Belarus part. I googled it all, LOL! Please review and tell me what you think. And also, is Sherlock too out of character? Let me know what you think. And I'm going to recommend a video I discovered on youtube, I found it hilarious. Search: Frozenlock: Kill them all (Let it go parody) A song by Steven Moffat. Another good one is: Mark Gatiss vs. youtube comments - sherlock. Have fun with those! :)**_


	4. Chapter 4- The Great Game PT 2

_**Hello again! Sorry that this is late again, I'm thinking about changing the release date...Plus the trailer! AAAHHHH! Anyways...**_ ** _Chapter four is up! I'm really excited now that I'm getting into the show now. It's so fun! Again, I want to thank everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed this story. It means SO much to me to know that you are enjoying this story. Please continue! Of course, I'm going to have to break this up into several chapters, so here is part two of The Great Game. Enjoy! :)_**

 ** _..._**

Ringing.

Pain.

Dark.

I groaned, moving my head to the side and fluttering my eyes open, blinking a few times to get in focus. My head was pounding. I heard groaning from very close above me. Sherlock. SHERLOCK! He was lying on top of me! I moved out from under him and pushed myself up on one arm.

"You ok?" I asked him, brushing some of the debris off of him.

He groaned and pulled himself up. "Mmm...fine." "You?"

"Pounding head, sides hurt." I looked at him. "You're heavy. Thanks for saving me from most of the debris though."

He glared at me. "Thanks for the soft landing."

I smirked and stood up, helping Sherlock get up as well.

"Shoes." I said, realizing something.

"What?" Sherlock looked at me.

"We'll need shoes to walk around in to clean this up."

"Oh."

I grabbed a chair from nearby and climbed onto it, then jumped to the kitchen, which had a pretty clean floor still. From there, I went to the out side hallway and grabbed our shoes, slipping mine on then walking back over to Sherlock to give him his.

"Thanks." He took them.

"No problem. What happened?" I asked.

Just then, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, broom in hand.

"Oh, dear. Are you two alright?" She asked us.

"Yeah we're fine. How are you?" I asked her.

"Oh I'm ok. It didn't affect my area so bad. The blast was a few floors up across the street."

"Huh." Sherlock walked over to the window, surveying the area.

"I brought this up for you, thought you might need it." She handed me the broom. "Just come down if you need anything else." She smiled then went back down stairs.

"Thank you!" I called after her, then turned back to Sherlock. He was looking at me now.

"You've got cuts." He said.

"I do? Must not have noticed. You do too though. Back of your neck." I noticed. "Here, I'll clean it for you if you promise to help clear this rubbish."

He looked around, then back at me. "Ok, fine." He slipped his dressing gown off and threw it on the couch.

I went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, and when I came back, Sherlock was sitting in a chair by the kitchen table, part of which was clear and had a bowl of warm water and paper towel on it.

I stood behind him. "The cut isn't deep, it just needs to be cleaned and bandaged." I told him, taking the paper towels and wetting them, then carefully starting to clean his cut, then bandaging it.

Sherlock sat through all of this quietly, and when I was done he stood up and turned to face me.

"Thank you. Now hand me that waste bin." He pointed over to the other end of the table.

I took it and gave it to him. He started to pick up the big chunks of plaster and glass and stick them in the bin.

I stood there for a second, amazed that Sherlock was actually cleaning up. I then joined him, sweeping the smaller bits into a pile.

...

A few hours later, we had finished cleaning up and I had taken a shower. Sherlock got in after me and surprisingly, got out within fifteen minutes. I walked out of my room, almost running into him as he came out, clad in a new pair of pajamas, drying his hair.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "That was quick."

"Humph." He grumbled, pulling the towel from his head, showing his messy, half dry curls.

"Wow." I looked at him.

"What?" He asked.

"You just look so... different." I told him. His shirt had the periodic table on it, and underneath it it said, 'I wear this shirt periodic-ly'. He was wearing knee length sweatpants, and the messy, undone curls really looked out of character on him, but oddly cute.

"Well, I can't look like that all the time." He glared at me.

"I know, sorry. Just not used to it. I like your shirt." I pointed to it.

"Oh, mummy gave it to me last Christmas. Mycroft chipped in, I suspect." He glared down at the shirt.

"Mummy?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, Mummy. My mother. Mycrofts mother. Mummy." He looked confusedly at me, then walked into his bedroom, ruffling his curls again.

I smiled. Sherlock could be so adorable at times.

"Would you like a cuppa?" I asked him, walking into the kitchen.

"Sure, I'll be right out." He answered.

He came out as soon as the tea was done, I handed his cup to him, walking out to the living room with mine, then curled up on the couch.

Sherlock walked in and sat down next to me, sipping his tea.

"I wonder what happened." He said into his mug.

"Me too."

"Well, Mycroft will probably be here in the morning, checking up on things." He glowered down into his cup.

I smiled at him, amused at the sibling rivalry between them.

We sat there in silence, drinking our tea. I was getting tired. I yawned, my eyelids becoming heavy.

Sherlock noticed. "You should go to sleep."

"Mmm, no.. mmfine." I told him, resisting another yawn.

He straightened my legs out and pulled a blanket over me. "Go to sleep." I heard him say, but he sounded far away. Finally I gave in, relaxing into the couch, legs stretched out on Sherlocks lap.

...

I woke up to John shouting and running up the stairs.

"Sherlock! Diane!"

I sat up as John ran in.

"John." Sherlock acknowledged him, plucking at his violin. I looked over at Sherlock and saw he was wearing 'The purple shirt of sex' as I had dubbed it, and felt my mouth go dry. I then noticed Mycroft in John's chair opposite Sherlock, file in hand.

"Hi John, Mycroft." I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Diane." Mycroft smiled creepily.

"I saw it on the telly, are you two okay?" John asked, looking between us.

"Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." Sherlock looked around, then went back to glaring at his brother.

I smirked at him then looked over to John, who was starting to investigate the damage.

"I can't." Sherlock said. I looked back over to him.

"Can't?" Mycroft asked.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." Sherlock answered, plucking at his violin again.

I lightly snorted as John looked at him in in disbelief.

Mycroft sighed. "Never mind your usual trivia. This is one of national importance."

Sherlock flicked the strings. "How's the diet?" I smirked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. " _Fine._ " "Perhaps one of you can get through to him."

"What?" John and I asked.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

"If you're so keen, why don't _you_ go investigate it?" Sherlock spat out at Mycroft.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time - not with the Korean elections so..."

We all looked at him curiously.

"Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" He smiled humorlessly. "Besides, a case like this-it requires- legwork." He grimaced.

Sherlock plucked another string and looked toward John. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Sofa." I said at the same time as Mycroft said- "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa."

Sherlock looked at me before scanning John. "Oh, yes. Of course."

John looked between us. "How?... Oh never mind." He sat down on the coffee table.

Mycroft smiled at us. "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you three became... pals. What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.

"He's not bad at all." I smiled.

"We're never bored." John added.

Mycroft smiled again. "Good! That's good, isn't it?"

Sherlock glared at him darkly.

Mycroft handed the folder out to Sherlock but he just glared stubbornly at it. Mycroft turned and handed it to John instead.

"Andrew West, known as 'Westie' by his friends. A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station with his head smashed in." Mycroft told us.

"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked.

"Seems the logical assumption."

I smiled. "But?"

"But?" Mycroft asked.

"Well you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." I sighed.

Sherlock smirked noisily.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system. The Bruce-Partington Programme, it's plans for it were on a memory stick."

John snickered. "That wasn't very clever."

"It's not the only copy." Mycroft informed him.

"Oh."

"But it is important, and missing."

"Top secret?" I asked.

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft turned back to his brother. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock tested him.

Mycroft leaned over Sherlock. "Think it over."

He walked over to John and shook his hand. "Goodbye, John." He looked over at me. "Diane." He smiled creepily. "See you very soon."

As Mycroft went back to his chair to pick up his coat, Sherlock began to repeatedly play a irritating sequence of notes. He didn't stop until Mycroft left the room.

"Why did you lie?" John asked him. "You've got nothing on-not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?"

John nodded. "Oh! I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

I laughed as Sherlock glared at John. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could deny anything, his phone rang.

"Sherlock Holmes." He answered.

"Of course. How could I refuse?" He stood up and switched his phone off. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?"

I stood up and straightened my clothes, glad I had changed into an actual outfit last night. "If you want us to." John answered.

"Of course." Sherlock put his coat on. "I'd be lost without my blogger. And uh.. assistant." He smiled at us. We grabbed our coats and all three of us dashed out the door.

...

After a slightly uncomfortable cab ride (never sit between two grown men after being thrown across a living room) we arrived at Scotland Yard. Lestrade greeted us as soon as the elevator doors opened.

"Hello." He looked at me. "Diane Blacke?"

"Um, yeah that's me." I answered.

"Ah. Heard a lot about you. Greg Lestrade." He shook my hand.

"Why am I here, George?" Sherlock asked irritably.

Lestrade sighed. "Come on then." We followed him into the offices.

"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

"Obviously." Sherlock snapped.

"You'll love this. That explosion..."

Sherlock cut him off. "Gas leak, yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Made to look like one."

"What?" John asked.

We entered Lestrade's office and he pointed at a white envelope on his desk. "Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box-a very strong box- and inside it was this."

Sherlock stared down at it.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?"

Sherlock reached for it, but hesitated slightly.

"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby trapped."

"How reassuring." He picked it up and motioned for me to come look at it under the light with him. Lestrade looked confused.

"I'm his assistant." I explained as I walked over to Sherlock.

"Oh." Lestrade said. John chuckled.

Sherlock was holding the envelope, so I examined it from beside him.

"Nice stationary. Bohemian." He said.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"

"No."

I looked closer at the paper. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold - iridium nib." I told them.

"She?" John looked surprised.

"Obviously." Sherlock and I said in unison.

John rolled his eyes and stifled a sigh. " 'Obviously'. "

Sherlock then carefully started to open the envelope. Once open, his eyes widened in surprise when a pink phone slipped out.

"But that's- that's the phone, the pink phone!" John was shocked.

I realized what he meant. "Oh..."

"What, from the study in pink?" Lestrade asked.

"Well obviously It's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like..." He looked over at Lestrade and Sally, who had come in to put some files on the desk. "The study in pink? You read his blog?!"

"Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you _really_ not know that the Earth goes around the Sun?" Lestrade asked. Sally smirked as she walked out, I glared at her.

Sherlock glared too then turned his attention back on the phone. "It isn't the same phone, this one's brand new. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." He shot a look over to John, who tries to ignore it. He turned the phone on and immediately gets a voice alert.

"You have one new message." The phone said. Then five Greenwich pips played, the last one longer than the rest.

"Is that it?" John asked.

"No, that's not it." Sherlock mumbled. I looked over his shoulder. There was a picture of an unfurnished room with a fireplace. The wallpaper was peeling and there were two mirrors, one tall one in the corner and a small one on the mantelpiece.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade yelled.

I knew what it meant. Sherlock explained it before I could, though.

"It's a warning."

"A warning?" John asked.

" Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips things like that..."

I finished for him- "Five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again."

Sherlock showed us the screen before walking out of the office. "And I've seen this place before." I followed him, knowing exactly what he meant.

"H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John stammered, trying to catch up with us.

We both turned around. "BOOM!" Lestrade then grabbed his coat and hurried after us.

...

We got back to 221 Baker street quickly. Sherlock walked in and went over to the door to 221c, all of us behind him.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

She came out. "Yes Sherlock?"

"We need the keys to 221c."

"Ok dear. One moment." She went back inside a we heard some jingling. She came out and handed them to him. Sherlock immediately started to unlock the padlock.

"You had a look, didn't you Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat." She told him.

"The door's been opened recently." He said, looking closely at the keyhole.

"No, it can't be. That's the only key."

Sherlock took the padlock off and started to unlock the door.

"I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements. I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls..." She started. Sherlock got the door open and we all followed him quickly, Lestrade shutting the door behind us.

...

Sherlock slowly pushed the door to the living room open. Sure enough, it was the same as the picture, but with one exception. There were a pair of trainers sitting in the middle of the empty room.

"Shoes." John said, pointing out the obvious.

Sherlock and I started to walk towards the shoes.

"He's a bomber, remember." John told us. We slowed down and cautiously crouched by them. Sherlock put his hands on the floor and leaned forward. Just as his nose almost touched them, the pink phone started to ring. I jumped, startled. He took the phone out of his pocket and switched it to speaker.

"Hello?" He said softly.

We heard a woman sobbing. " _H-hello...sexy."_ I threw a puzzled look at Sherlock.

"Who's this?" He asked.

" _I've.. sent you... a little puzzle.. just.. to say hi."_ The woman said tearfully.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock questioned.

" _I-I'm not crying.. I'm typing.. and...this.. stupid bitch...is reading it out."_ The woman sobbed again.

"The curtain rises." Sherlock said sofly.

"What?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Nothing." I rolled my eyes at him.

"No, what did you mean." John persisted.

"I've been expecting this for quite some time."

The woman spoke again. " _Twelve hours to solve my puzzle... Sherlock...or I'm..going to be... so... naughty._ " The phone went dead.

Sherlock looked up. "Let's go." He said to me and John, ignoring Lestrade. He bent down to pick up the shoes.

"Go where?" I asked him.

"St. Bartholomew's Hospital." He walked out.

"Let's go then." John sighed.

...

Once we had gotten to the lab there, a woman named Molly helped us set up. She had to get back to work, so we didn't converse much. When she had left, we examined the shoes. I had graduated collage with a degree in Biology and had studied even more on other bits so Sherlock insisted I helped. John sat in the back.

Sherlock took some of the dried mud from the treads in the shoes and put it in a dish. He took the dish over to a microscope and a computer and started to run a test. I started looking at the the mud through the microscope, which Sherlock quickly took over. Then I busied myself with the computer, trying not to be annoyed at John pacing back and forth.

"So, who D'you suppose it was?" John asked, breaking the silence. I didn't say anything and kept my focus on the computer.

"Hmmm?" Sherlock replied, not paying attention to John or the text alert he got.

"The woman on the phone-the crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there."

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads!" John told him, exasperated.

"You're not going to be much use to her." He glanced over at me and the computer, which was still throwing up 'NO MATCH' results, then went back to his microscope.

"Are they trying to trace it-trace the call?" John asked.

"The bomber's too smart for that." I told him.

Sherlock's phone went off again.

"Pass me my phone." Sherlock asked John.

"Where is it?"

"Jacket."

I knew what was coming. John was not very happy about that. But he did it anyways. John slammed his hand into Sherlock's shoulder, rummaging around in his pocket with the other.

"Careful!" Sherlock warned, still not looking up. I smirked.

John pulled the phone out. "Text. From your brother."

"Delete it."

"Delete it?" John looked shocked.

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

John looked down at the phone. "Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times."

Sherlock raised his head in exasperation. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment."

John sighed tiredly. "His what?" I looked at him. How could he not know? I barely knew the man yet I knew!

Sherlock spoke. "Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: Why is my brother so determined to bore us when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" He turned his attention back to the microscope again.

John turned the phone off. "Try and remember there's a woman here who might die."

"What for?" Sherlock looked up at John. I shook my head. _'not helping Sherlock'._ Sherlock continued. "This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

John looked away in disbelief. I was just about to say something to help, but the computer started to beep.

"Ah!" Sherlock came over. I smiled excitedly.

Molly walked in. "Any luck?"

"Oh yes!" We said.

As Molly came over to look at the screen, an obviously gay man came in through the door but stopped apologetically. "Oh! uh, sorry, I didn't..." He went to leave.

"Jim, hi!" Molly stopped him. "Come, in. Come in!" He walked in, clumsily shutting the door. I looked over at Sherlock, who was scanning both Jim and Molly, he saw me and looked back down into the microscope.

Molly began introductions. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah!" Jim was gazing at Sherlock's back intently.

"And uh..." Molly looked at me and John blankly.

"John Watson, hi." John said quickly.

"Diane Blacke." I half smiled.

"Hi." Jim still stared at Sherlock's back. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me about you. You on one of your cases?

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." Molly giggled. Jim joined in.

Office romance? Oh come on... I saw Sherlock glance up at them then back down again. "Gay." He muttered.

I pinched his side, close to his butt. He looked up in alarm. Stifling a laugh, I motioned over to Molly, who looked confused.

Her smile faded. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing. Um.. Hey." He shot a fake smile over to Jim. I sighed, good enough. I saw John shaking his head.

All of a sudden, Jim knocked a metal dish off of the table. "Sorry! Sorry!" He giggled nervously, putting the dish back. I saw him slip a piece of paper under it.

Sherlock looked up, annoyed.

Jim went back to Molly and put his hand on her back. "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at The Fox, 'bout six-ish?"

"Yeah!" She answered, smiling up at him.

Jim looked towards Sherlock. "Bye. It was nice to meet you." Sherlock didn't respond, and neither did I. John finally broke the awkward silence.

"You too."

Jim stood there for a moment, the turned and walked out. Molly waited for the door to shut before speaking. "What d'you mean, gay? We're together."

Sherlock looked across at her. "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half."

"Nuh, three." He looked her up and down. "Sherlock.." John started.

"He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil everything?... He's not." Molly told him angrily.

Sherlock snorted, I held in a snort as well. "With that level of personal grooming?"

John stepped forward. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You _wash_ your hair. There's a difference" I told him. Sherlock went on. "No, no - tinted eyelashes; signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes."

"Then there's his underwear." I cut Sherlock off. He looked over at me, apparently surprised I had noticed.

"His underwear?" Molly asked.

"Visible above the waistline - very visible; very particular brand." Sherlock continued, reaching for the paper under the metal dish. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact hat he just left his number under this dish here. I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly ran out of the room. Sherlock and I looked at each other, confused and startled by her reaction.

"Charming. Well done." John spoke up.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock said confusedly.

"Kinder? No, no Sherlock. That wasn't kind."

Sherlock looked fed up with this conversation. He sat back in his chair and motioned to the shoes. Oh...

"Go on then." He told John. I smirked.

"Mmm?" John hummed.

"You know what we do. Off you go." He folded his arms expectantly. John groaned.

"No. Ask Diane."

"Go on. Diane already did. She came to the same conclusions I did. She did as well as me."

"I pointed something out that he didn't notice as well." I muttered. Sherlock glared at me. "I don't know much about fashion! How was I to know!" He yelled, upset I knew something he didn't. I had a feeling he'd be reading up on fashion and such later. We made eye contact for a long while. I noticed a glint of humor behind his mask.

John looked between us. "Uh ok... But I'm still not going to stand here so you two can humiliate me while I try and disseminate..."

"An outside eye, a second... and third opinion. It's very useful to me." Sherlock interrupted him.

"Yeah, right."

"Really."

"Oh go on, John. We won't mock." I told him. It worked.

He cleared his throat. "Fine."

He picked a shoe up and looked at it. "I dunno - they're just a pair of shoes... trainers."

"Good." Sherlock urged him to go on. I took my phone and searched the shoes up.

"Umm... they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. Uh... they're very eighties - probably one of those retro designs."

Sherlock gave me a look when I chuckled. "You're on sparkling form. What else?"

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's."

"But...?" I told him.

"But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

"Excellent. What else?" Sherlock looked on proudly.

"Uh..." John put the shoe down. "..that's it."

"That's it?"

John nodded. "How did I do?"

"Well John; really well." I told him.

"Yes, you did. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know..." Sherlock put his hand out. John handed him the trainer. Sherlock looked at it closely before going into deduction mode. "The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three- no four times. Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come in contact with them, so he suffered from Eczema. Shoes are well worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches."

I cut him off. "British made, twenty years old." Sherlock glared at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Twenty years?" John asked.

"They're not retro - they're original." I showed him the image on my phone of the shoes. "Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine."

"But there's still mud on them. They look new."

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the shoes. "Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?" John asked in disbelief.

Sherlock nodded toward the computer screen. "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me."

I looked at the map computer. "South of river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what to him?" John asked us.

"Something bad." Sherlock answered. He looked up at us. "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't let them go unless he had to. So a child with big feet gets... _Oh!_ " He looked into the distance. I felt my mouth go into an O as well, realizing what this meant.

"What?" John said.

" _Carl Powers."_ I whispered.

"Sorry, who?" John asked again.

"Carl Powers, John." Sherlock told him.

"What is it?"

I looked over in surprise when Sherlock said: "It's where I began."

...

 _ **Please follow, favorite, and review if you have the time. It helps me feel motivated to write more : ) Tell me, do you think Diane needs more lines? I'm trying to mix her in as much as I can. AAAANNNNDDD the trailer! I'm very emotionally effected. Plus watching it 100 times over and over didn't help. How did you feel? And how are you coping? I NEED TIPS ON THAT! Anyways, I really hope you liked this, and thank you for reading!**_


	5. Chapter 5 - The Great Game PT 3

_**Hola lovelies! Okay, so I don't know if this is on time or early. I just don't know. But that doesn't matter so much, does it? I would like to thank: Im such a freak (the periods wouldn't show :/) and seraphblades-and-wands for reviewing and following the last chapter, It means a lot to me that you like it! Thank you as well for following/favoriting if you have too. Enjoy! :)**_

 _ **...**_

We were squashed back in a cab again, this time I grabbed a window seat, so Sherlock sat in the middle. Me and Sherlock were telling John about Carl Powers.

"Nineteen Eighty-nine, a young kid- champion swimmer- came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." Sherlock showed John the front page of a newspaper on his phone.

"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?" He went on.

"Um, I remember too, Sherlock. Thought that case was rather interesting." I reminded him. He shot a look over at me. "Apparently so."

"Something fishy about it?" John asked.

"Nobody thought so."

"Except for us, of course." I added. Sherlock intentionally cleared his throat. "Ok, ok. You tell him Sherlock. I'll just sit here and listen quietly." I said cheekily.

Sherlock glared at me then continued. "I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

"Started young, didn't you?" John smiled.

"He was eight." I smiled back.

Sherlock looked a bit upset. "Well, you were seven."

I looked at him. "And how do you know that?"

"Probably the same way you know, Diane Lynn Blacke." He smirked at me.

"My birth certificate. Oh." I slapped my forehead. "Good going, William." I smirked back.

John laughed at our childish-ness.

Sherlock stared into my eyes for the longest time then looked back to John.

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What, Will?" John laughed. I joined him. Sherlock squinted his eyes at him. "Ok, ok sorry. Go on."

Sherlock sighed then continued. "His shoes."

"What about them?"

"They weren't there. I made a fuss;I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes..."

He took the bag with the shoes from my lap. "...Until now" I finished for him.

 **...**

 _One hour later..._

Sherlock and had I shut ourselves in the kitchen and had the kitchen table littered with photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Power's death from 1989. We were going through them all, showing each other the interesting or helpful bits then setting them aside. I could hear John pacing back and forth outside. Finally, he slid one of the doors open.

"Can I help?"

We didn't react to him, hoping he'd just leave it for now.

"I want to help. There's only five hours left." His phone got a text. He looked at it.

"It's your brother, he's texting me now." He frowned. "How does he know my number?"

"Must be a root canal." Sherlock said thoughtfully. I smiled.

John walked into the kitchen. "Look, he did say 'national importance'. Sherlock and I snorted.

"How quaint." Sherlock stated.

"What is?" John asked.

"You are. Queen and country."

"You can't just ignore it." John told him sternly.

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."

"Right, good." John folded his arms and nods in satisfaction. He then looked at us in puzzlement. "Who's that?"

I snickered, poor John. He can be sort of stupid at times. Sherlock smiled and poked me, then stood up and went to John.

"You." He pushed John out of the kitchen and shut the door behind him. "I'll text you the address!" He shouted through the door. Sherlock came back to the table and picked his phone up, texting John like he said. I heard John stomp upstairs, then check his phone when it dinged. Five minutes later we heard him leave.

We looked through the papers for another hour or so, but I needed to take a break for a few minutes.

"Tea?" I asked Sherlock.

"Yes. Teaspoon of cream..."

"Tablespoon of sugar. I know." I told him.

"Oh." He got up and put something under his microscope, soon becoming engrossed with it, taking notes or telling me something every so often. He still took time to drink his tea.

Two more hours passed, I had gone back to writing some notes on Carl Powers and Sherlock was still at his microscope. Mrs. Hudson came in with more tea on a tray. As she set it down on the table, Sherlock looked up.

"Poison."

"What are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked him.

"Clostridium botulinum!" He bellowed. I watched Mrs. Hudson cringe and flee the kitchen, passing John, who had just got back.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" He continued excitedly.

"OH!" I shouted, getting up and looking though the microscope.

John looked at us blankly.

"Carl Powers!" We shouted at him.

"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?" John asked, looking between us.

"Remember the shoelaces?" I asked him.

"Mmm."

"The boy suffered from Eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns." I went on.

"What- how-how come the autopsy didn't pick it up?" John asked.

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." Sherlock answered him, walking around the table to his laptop. I followed him and looked behind his shoulder. It was at the Forum of his website, The Science of Deduction. He started to type into the message box:

FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).

Sherlock straightened up, slightly bumping into me. He pointed at the laces.

"But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet." He bent back down and continued to type:

Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St. He sent the message and straightened up again.

"That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know.." I cut John off.

"We get his attention."

"Mm-hm."

"Stop the clock." Sherlock looked at his watch.

"The killer kept those shoes all these years." John said.

"Yes." Sherlock looked at us. "Meaning..."

"He's our bomber." John said thoughtfully.

The pink phone rang. I hurried over and handed it to Sherlock, who turned it to speaker phone. The woman started to talk again:

" _Well done, you. Come and get me."_ She sobbed out.

"Where are you? Tell us where you are!" Sherlock said loudly into the phone. The woman told him and he quickly hung up and called Lestrade, telling him where she was. John sighed a breath of relief and, after Lestrade texted telling us she was fine, he went upstairs for the night. Leaving me and Sherlock alone on the couch again.

 **.**

After some silence Sherlock stood up and started to play his violin. Slowly and softly, he played a tune he must have made up. It reminded me of the ocean at night, in dim moon light. Dark and beautiful, with a glint of light shining down.

I almost wished it had gone on forever once he had finished.

"That was beautiful!" I told him.

He smiled. "Thank you, Diane." He sat down in his chair, silent again. Then he spoke up. "Come over here and sit in John's chair." I felt a bit nervous, but I sat in his chair anyways. Sherlock looked at me seriously.

"You must _never_ tell anyone my full name." He told me, staring into my eyes pleadingly.

I smiled, and looked back into his eyes, which at this moment, looked greyish, like the sea after a storm.

"Ok, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I promise on one condition."

"What's that?" He said, leaning forward.

"You must always say please and thank you to me, and make me a cup of tea for once."

He sighed. "Really?"

I sat back, satisfied with my request. "Yes."

"Ok, fine. I will."

"Thank you." I smiled at him.

"You're welcome." He smiled back.

"I'm going to go to bed, I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be busy." I stood up. Sherlock stood up too, very close to me. He looked almost, crestfallen.

"Yes. Me too, I suppose." He looked down at me, I took the chance. I slid my arms under his and hugged him, wanting to smell his scent of cedar, cologne, spearmint, tea and faint cigarettes again. He froze for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around me as well, resting his cheek on top of my head.

"Good night, William." I whispered.

"Good night, Diane Lynn." He huskily whispered back. I could feel the rumble of his voice against my chest. I pulled away from him before I did something stupid, like kiss him - and smiled. "Night Sherlock." He let go of me.

"Night."

 **.**

Sherlock stood there, wondering what he was feeling, and why he was feeling like this, watching Diane gracefully walk away to her room. Right next to his. He shook his head and waited for her door to shut before going into his room and contemplating his emotions. Coming to the conclusion just to ignore them, he then had a fitful night of tossing and turning.

 **.**

I woke up early to the sound of Sherlock's violin. It was a rather cheery tune, I figured he was probably trying to wake John and I up. After thinking about how to act after last night, I slid out of bed and got dressed - dark dressy jeans and a dark blue top that brought my eyes out. _I'm not trying to impress him, am I_ _?_ I thought when I looked at myself in the mirror. I have to say, this outfit was very flattering on my tall form, showing my reasonable bust and butt well. After brushing my teeth and clipping the front of my hair back I walked out into the living room, same time as John came down the stairs.

"We leaving for Scotland Yard then?" I asked Sherlock, who was still facing the window. He turned around _. (God look at his_ _muscles!_ ) Sherlock looked us, mostly me; over for a moment before answering. "Yes. Come on. We'll get food there." He then walked into the kitchen and grabbed a to-go cup and handed it to me.

"What's this?" I peered into the cup.

"Tea. I made you tea." He winked at me.

"Is it poisoned?" I sniffed it and took a small sip. Wow. Exactly how I like it.

"No, it's not poisoned. I even cleaned the kettle before boiling water."

John stared at Sherlock, blown away at the idea that Sherlock made tea for somebody. I saw his face and smiled into my cup, happy that I made that deal with Sherlock last night.

"Come on!" Sherlock was ready to leave. He and John went a bit ahead of me, and I heard John questioning Sherlock about me and him and tea. I also heard nothing coming from Sherlock. I smirked as I slipped my long coat on, then went after them.

 **...**

 _Scotland Yard. Lestrade's office._

.

Sherlock was staring into the main office, listening to Lestrade, hands under his chin in his 'thinking pose'. John and I were sitting across from Lestrade at his desk. Lestrade was telling us more about the crying woman.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house." Lestrade looked up at Sherlock, who was walking towards the desk. "Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager." He set a pager down on the table. John picked it up and looked at it.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off." Sherlock said thoughtfully.

"Or if we hadn't solved the case." I reminded him.

Sherlock walked back to the window and spoke softly to himself. "Oh, elegant."

John looked up and sighed in exasperation. "Elegant?" I smirked.

"But what was the point? Why would any one do this?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh- Diane and I can't be the only ones in the world that get bored." I looked up at him, surprised he included me. Just then, the pink phone beeped a message alert. Sherlock opened it and walked back over to us. _"You have one new message."_ The phone sounded four Greenwich pips this time, the last one longer than the rest just like before.

"Four pips." John said.

"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second." Sherlock showed us the phone. It was a picture of a car, drivers door open, license plate clearly visible.

"It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

Lestrade picked up his desk phone. "I'll see if it's been reported."

Sergeant Donovan then walked in with a phone. "Freak, it's for you." She handed it to him as he glared at her.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered. He walked out of the room. I watched his face contort into puzzlement, then just a bit worried. John noticed too. A few moments later Sherlock motioned me over. I hurried over to him.

"Yeah?"

"It was him, he stole another voice." Sherlock looked over to me. "We have eight hours."

I looked up at him, but before I could say anything, Lestrade came out.

"We've found it." He told us, and started to hurry over to the elevator. Sherlock, John and I quickly followed.

 **...**

The car was close to the river. Forensic officers were working on it as we walked up. Sherlock and I were listening to Lestrade while John walked behind us talking to Sally. I heard her ask him if Sherlock and I were dating. His laugh was rather loud when he answered her. Snooty Donovan. I turned my attention back to Lestrade.

"The car was hired yesterday by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy, paid in cash."

Sherlock and I both looked closely at the woman talking with a police officer.

Lestrade went on. "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived."

We got to the car and Sherlock went to look, but then stopped and looked at me. "You first." He pointed to the car.

I smirked. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smirked back. Sally, John and Lestrade all looked at each other, confused. I bent down and examined the car, there was a large amount of blood; about a pint, smeared over the island between the front seats. I opened the glove box and found a business card, Janus cars. I slipped it to Sherlock, who stuck it in his coat. I then let him take a look.

"Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out." Lestrade said.

"No body." Sherlock stood up.

"Not yet."

"Get a sample sent to the lab." Sherlock pulled me away, walking over to the woman we saw earlier. _"Get in character."_ He whispered to me. I nodded. John was beside us now.

"Mrs. Monkford?" Sherlock addressed the woman.

She turned to us tearfully. "Yes?" She then sighed. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen."

"No, we're not from the police; we're..." John started.

Sherlock held his hand out to her, suddenly tearful and tremulous. I was doing my best to be so as well.

"Sherlock Holmes. This is my wife, Diane." I held my hand out as well. John looked over at us. "Very old friend of your husband's. We.. um.." He shook his head and looked down, his forehead almost touching my shoulder. He sniffed. "We grew up together." He looked away tearfully.

"I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned you." Mrs. Monkford said confusedly.

"Oh, he must have done. This is... this is horrible, isn't it?"

John looked away, trying to keep his face neutral.

"I mean, I just can't believe it. We only saw him the other day. Same old Ian, not a care in the world." He sadly smiled at her.

"Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?" The woman looked between us.

Sherlock ignored her. "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Sherlock smiled. "Oh well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!"

"No, it wasn't." The woman glared at us.

Sherlock dropped his fake persona. "Wasn't it? Interesting." We walked away, Sherlock's arm still around my shoulder. I started to giggle.

John ran to catch up with our long strides. "Why did you lie to her?" We ducked under the tape.

Sherlock took his gloves off to wipe his eyes. "People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Yes." I told him.

"You, did, obviously. John may have not."

"Sorry, what?" John looked at us. Sherlock took his arm off my shoulder and turned to him. "I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature - they've only just found the car"

"You think she murdered her husband?" John asked him.

"Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make." I told John.

"I see. No, I don't. What am I seeing?" John questioned as we walked by Donovan, who shouted: "Fishing! Try fishing!" He nodded to her and went to the other side of us.

"Where now?"

"Janus Cars." We told him in unison. Sherlock handed the business card to John. "We found this in the glove compartment."

We walked towards the road for a cab.

 **...**

 _Janus Cars..._

.

.

We were in Mr. Ewert's office, John sitting at the other side of his desk. Sherlock and I were standing, taking in our surroundings.

"Can't see how I can help you three." Mr. Ewert said.

"Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday." John told him. Sherlock and I turned back to the conversation.

"Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

"Is that one?" I pointed out the window. Mr. Ewert turned to look. I looked closely down the side of his neck. then noticed Sherlock's head beside mine, doing the same thing. We quickly stopped when he turned back.

"No, they're all Jags. Yeah, I can see you're not a car person, eh?"

"But, er, surely you can afford one - a Mazda, I mean?" Sherlock asked him, watching him scratch his arm.

"Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is: it's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?" He laughed.

"But didn't you know Mr. Monkford?" John asked him.

"No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod."

Sherlock circled the table. "Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?"

"Eh?"

"You've been away, haven't you?"

"Oh, the-the.." He motioned towards his face. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though - bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"What?"

"Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He offered Mr. Ewert a bank note. "I'm _gasping_."

"Um... well..." He reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet out. "Hmm.." He looked through it. "No, sorry."

"Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert." He walked towards the door, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him. "You've been very helpful. Come on John." We left the office and began to walk across the forecourt.

"I-I've got change if you still want to, uh..." John started.

"Nicotine patches, remember? I'm doing well." Sherlock let go of me and patted his upper arm.

"What! You've been holding out on me?" I playfully asked him. He grinned.

"So what was _that_ all about." John asked, motioning back at the office.

"I needed to look inside his wallet."

"Why?"

"Because Mr. Ewert's a liar." I told him.

"Oh. So where to now?"

"St Barts lab." Sherlock answered.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _St Barts lab..._

 _._

I watched Sherlock drop some of Mr. Monkford's blood in a glass dish. "Equipment bag." He held his hand out.

"Ah ah ah, what do you say?" I smirked

He sighed and looked over at me. " _Please?_ "

I handed it to him. "Of course."

"Thank you." He opened a bottle and siphoned out some liquid with an eye dropper. He then bent down and squeezed out a drop onto the blood, which began to fizz. As I came over to get a better look, the pink phone rang. Sherlock looked at me then at the phone. I did the same. He picked the phone up and answered it.

"Hello?"

 _"The clue's in the name. Janus cars."_ The young man tearfully said.

"Why would you be giving me a clue?"

 _"Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock."_

Sherlock then looked up at me, and I _think_ I saw him shake his head, calculating something about being 'made for each other'.

"Then talk to me in your own voice."

 _"Patience."_

The line went dead.

"The clue's in the name." I repeated. "Janus Cars... Oh!"

"What?" Sherlock looked at me.

"The god with two faces. Janus. The roman god who could see the past and the future. He was concerned with travelling, trading and shipping. He was also the god of passages, gates, beginnings, endings, transitions."

"Oh! Makes sense. You really kept that information?"

I sighed. "Yes. I liked reading about the different gods."

"Okay." Sherlock looked back down at the fizzing liquid in the dish and smiled. "A-ha! As I expected."

"Frozen?" I asked him.

"Frozen!"

We then collected John, whom we had kicked out of the Lab, and went to the Police Car Pound to meet Lestrade.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _Police Car Pound..._

 _._

We got there and basically ran to Monkford's car, where Lestrade was. Sherlock started talking the second we saw Lestrade.

"How much blood would you say was on that seat, would you say?"

"How much? About a pint." Lestrade answered him.

"Not about. _Exactly_ a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's but it's been frozen." I told Lestrade.

"Frozen?"

Sherlock continued. "There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats."

"Who did?" John asked.

"Janus Cars. The clue's in the name." I answered him.

"The god with two faces."

"Exactly!" Sherlock said excitedly.

"Mmm."

Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of problem - money troubles, bad marriage, whatever - Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble - financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat..."

"So where is he?" John looked at us.

"Columbia!" We answered. Sherlock closed the car door for emphasis.

" _Columbia_?!"Lestrade questioned.

"Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet. Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when Diane asked him about the cars, we could see his tan line clearly. No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?"

"Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding."

"Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia." I cut Sherlock off, wanting to show off my abilities as well.

"Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars." Sherlock finished. We grinned at each other.

"M-Mrs. Monkford?" John was aghast.

"Oh yes. She was in on it too. Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best." Sherlock turned to me and John. "We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved."

He pulled me away with him again, something I had now gotten used to; John followed beside us. Sherlock clenched his fists triumphantly.

"We are on _Fire_!" I laughed at him.

"Sherlock, really?' John gave him a look but he didn't notice. We hurried out to the street and hailed a cab.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _221b_ _Baker st..._

 _._

Sherlock ran into the living room to his desk, where his laptop was; and quickly typed:

Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia.

Into the message box on his website. After he sent the message the pink phone rang. We all exchanged glances before he answered it.

 _"He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me please!"_

Sherlock texted Lestrade right away. Ten minutes later, Lestrade texted that the man was fine. Sherlock told us then slowly smiled. We all started laughing.

"Ohh! Good. Good." John sighed, leaning back into his chair.

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, very good." He turned to me. " _Thank you_ for all of your help today. You were remarkable."

I smirked at him. "My pleasure." He smirked back.

John looked between us and squinted his eyes a bit. "I'm going to shower, then go to bed." He got up. "Good night." He walked up the stairs.

"Good night, John." I smiled at him.

"Well, we both need a shower too." I looked over at Sherlock. "And there's only one shower left."

He looked at me then jumped up. "I'm thinking of a number between one and fifteen, tell me what it is and you can shower first." I jumped up as well and peered into his eyes.

"Umm... eleven?" I asked him.

He looked at me as if I had just broken the Enigma code in one try. "How...?"

"You're Sherlock Holmes, figure it out." I walked away and into the bathroom triumphantly. A few moments later Sherlock knocked on the door and said:

"Guess. You guessed?"

I laughed. "Sure!"

I heard him sigh then walk to his room, then walk out and fall into the couch, sighing again.

 **.**

 **.**

.

 _Two hours later..._

 _._

I had showered and changed and was sitting in the living room, reading a book called 'ten most wanted' I had found on the bookshelf. A bit later, Sherlock walked out of the bathroom. I looked up to say hi, and found him pulling his shirt on still, showing me his bare chest and arms. Sherlock Holmes is _ripped_. I don't know how, but he is. I tried my best not to stare and looked back at my book. He came completely in and I then looked up, pretending to notice him then.

"Oh, hey." I smiled.

"Hello. Is that my book?"

"Erm, yes. I thought it looked interesting."

"And what do you think of it?"

"It's good! Very good."

"Yes, my thoughts precisely." He took up his violin. "I like to play every night, if I can. Any preferences?"

I looked up at him, thinking. "What did you play last night?"

"Oh, nothing. I made it up my self."

"Do you make a lot of music up?" I asked him, curious.

"Well, yes."

"Play something else you made up then, please."

"Okay."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then brought the violin up to his chin and started to play. The music was low and soft at first, almost sad. Then it went to being higher pitched and faster, like a gust of wind. Then it was happy and soft and reminded me of how it felt dancing with him. I looked over at him and saw that Sherlock's eye's were closed and his face was a Picasso of feelings, he was putting his whole soul into this song. He must not have known what he looked like, because at the end, his face went back to normal without him noticing. He bowed then noticed that a few tears had slipped out of my eyes, at the sight of him playing.

"Are you ok?" He asked, confused.

"I'm fine, just tired. That was just, amazing, Sherlock. It really really was. When did you make that up?"

He looked away. "Erm.. just now actually."

"Wow! Just now! That was incredible!"

"Thank you. That is how I let my emotions out, by playing and composing."

"Oh." I wondered what emotions he let out through that, because, wow.

He walked over to me and kissed my cheek. I froze. "Good night, Diane." He whispered, then walked to his bedroom.

I stood there with my eyes closed, his scent and a ghost of the soft, tender kiss still lingering on me. I shook myself out of it and went to my room, shutting the door behind me. After I got into bed, I wondered if the violin then goodnight would become a thing, because I enjoyed it. Soon I had fallen asleep.

 **...**

 **.**

 **.**

 _ **Okay, what do you think? Did you squeal at the hug scene? Did you squeal at the KISS? (Don't worry, I'm not going into the relationship too fast, I'm just making sure Sherlock has some feelings and thinks about them for a while before acting on them.) Oops, spoiler... ok I'll stop ranting...**_

 _ **Please tell me your thoughts, that's how I make this story better! Thank you for reading! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6- The Great Game PT 4

**_GUYS! Guess what I found! This really amazing playlist of Sherlock fan videos! I'll put the link below if anyone is interested. First, I would like to thank: Imnotfine and marcelineandbonnie for following this story! Also thank you for favoriting Imnotfine! Thank you also to seraphblades-and-wands and IWriteFanfics101 for reviewing. This ALL made me soo happy! Thank you thank you thank you! And also this story now has over 400 views! I can't believe it! Thank you everyone! Please tell me how you feel about this chapter, I would very much appreciate it! Also if you have any ideas, I would LOVE to hear them! Enjoy lovelies! :)_**

 _ **Cookies of gratitude-**_

(::) (::) (::)

 _ **...**_

I woke up to loud knocking on my door.

"Diane! John says he has to eat a real meal, and Mrs. Hudson won't make it, so we're going out." Sherlock shouted, annoyed. I got out of bed and started to dress.

"And I haven't seen either of you eat anything more than toast since this case, so you should probably get something to eat as well." John added.

"No, I don't eat when I'm working on something. It slows me down." I walked out, ready to leave. "I'll have tea."

John sighed. "I don't know how either of you survive."

Sherlock smirked. "Let's go, then."

...

The little cafe we went to was nice, we got a table and Sherlock and I sat next to each other, neither of us wanting to be near food. I noticed Sherlock had brought the pink phone, as it was in front of him on the table.

John ordered a very large plate for breakfast. Sherlock started to drum his fingers on the wood surface while John tucked into his meal.

"Feeling better?" I asked John.

"Mmm. You two realize we've hardly stopped for a breath since this thing started?"

I nodded and Sherlock grunted acknowledgement.

John looked thoughtful, then looked to Sherlock. "Has it occurred to you..."

"Probably." Sherlock cut him off. I laughed.

John gave him a look. "No - has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes - it's all meant for you."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Yes, I know." He looked over at me. "No offense Diane."

I smiled. "None taken. Although I'm surprised the bomber hasn't taken an interest in me."

"Hmm..." Sherlock looked off into space.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John questioned.

"Who? The name the cab driver told you?" I asked.

Sherlock looked at me. "Yes." He looked at John. "Perhaps."

The pink phone beeped a message alert. Sherlock played it. The phone sounded three Greenwich pips, the last pip longer like the other times. Then a photograph of a smiling middle aged woman appeared on screen. I stared at it, trying to recall the face, but I just don't know who it would be.

"That could be anybody." Sherlock showed John.

"Well, it _could_ be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been a little more that unemployed." John told him.

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock and I looked at John quizzically.

John got up and walked over to a television and turned it on. "Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly."

He changed the channel a few times until the woman in the picture was on the telly, doing some sort of makeover show.

The pink phone then rang. Sherlock picked it up.

"Hello?"

 _"This one... is a bit... defective. Sorry...She's blind. This is... a funny... one. I'll give you... twelve hours."_ We heard an old woman with a Yorkshire accent say tremulously.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock questioned as John sat down.

" _I like... to watch... you... dance."_ The old woman gasped and started to sob in terror. Sherlock lowered the phone and shook his head at us, then turned to watch the television.

A voice over on the programme had started. _"Continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead..."_

Sherlock looked back at us. John was just finishing his breakfast. "Hurry up John. We've got to go to Bart's Morgue, to take a look at Connie Prince's body."

John looked up in disgust and I snickered. "Let's go now, I'm not very hungry anymore." He stood up and set some money on the table. Sherlock ran out to grab a cab.

"Come on John!" I called as I followed Sherlock.

.

"Just following two sociopaths around all day, that's all I do. Should put _that_ on my job description." John muttered as he walked out behind them.

...

 _Bart's Morgue..._

 _._

 _._

Sherlock called Lestrade to meet us at Bart's on our cab ride, so he was there waiting for us when the cab drove up. He started talking to Sherlock as soon as we got out.

"What's this about Sherlock? Is it the bomber again?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock ignored him and I followed, leaving John behind to explain to Lestrade.

 **...**

After we waited impatiently for the body to be taken back out, Lestrade came to escort us there, file in hand. He started to read it as we walked in.

"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No." We replied as we walked over to the body. I saw John roll his eyes.

"Very popular. She was going places." Lestrade continued.

"Not anymore." I commented.

"So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound." Sherlock said while examining the body. John came over to look as well.

"Tetanus bacteria enters the blood stream."

"-Good night Vienna." I smirked slightly.

"I suppose." John straightened up.

Sherlock took a step back and looked the body up and down. "Something's wrong with this picture."

Lestrade looked up. "Eh?" I looked up too.

"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it."

"Something's wrong." I caught on, stepping forward a bit more. I noticed something. "Sherlock. Look at her arm and right above her nose." I motioned toward the body. Sherlock pulled his magnifier out and took a look at the spots I pointed out.

"John?" He looked up at him.

"Mmm?"

"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?"

John nodded. "Yeah."

"But the wound's clean - very clean, and fresh." I realized.

"How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" Sherlock bent down to look at the wound again. I took another quick look as well, all the pieces clicking together in my head.

"Eight, ten days." John told him.

We quirked two smiles up at him, urging him on.

John's eyes lit up with realization. "The cut was made later."

"After she was dead?" Lestrade asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

"Must have been." I told him.

Sherlock stood up. "The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's body?" He turned to John. "You want to help, right?"

"Of course."

"Connie Prince's backround - family history, everything. Give me data."

"Right." John left the room, Sherlock and I following.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of." Lestrade stopped us, but we didn't turn.

"Is there?" Sherlock asked casually.

"Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"Good Samaritan." Sherlock said over his shoulder, then grabbing my arm, again, ready to leave. I smirked at his comment.

"Who press-gangs suicide bomber's?" Lestrade continued.

Sherlock turned now, and so did I. Both of us saying the same thing - "Bad Samaritan."

Lestrade sighed. "I'm - I'm serious you two. Listen: I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you - but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?"

Sherlock and I smiled and he answered: "Something new!"

He then pulled me along next to him as fast as we could walk to the elevator. Lestrade jumped in before the doors closed. "I'm coming too."

Sherlock glared at him. "We're going back to 221b."

"I want to be there, keep an eye on things."

Sherlock sighed, apparently nothing in him to fight it. "Ok then."

I smiled at Lestrade, who now had focused his attention on Sherlock's hand, which was still on my arm. I slowly tried to inch out of his grasp, but he tightened it.

"Why are you moving?" He looked at me confusedly.

"Why are you holding my arm?" I retorted.

"Because I can feel your pulse like this."

Lestrade watched us curiously.

"And why are you taking my pulse?"

"Because it's a different beat than what I've felt before. It's interesting." He avoided eye contact with me and Lestrade, but didn't let go.

"Okay." I smirked.

The rest of the way down was awkwardly silent.

 **...**

 _221b, Baker st._

.

.

We had the wall covered with paperwork; maps, photographs of Connie Prince, photos of Carl Powers, - press cuttings and paper with our _almost_ incomprehensible writing. Sherlock had connected pieces of string between some of the exhibits, linking them together.

Lestrade was standing behind us awkwardly as I went over the information again and Sherlock paced, muttering -

"Connection connection connection. There _must_ be a connection."

I looked up when he suddenly stopped. He gestured towards the wall.

"Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew bomber's iPhone was in stationary from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing - working his way round the world? Showing off?" He threw his hands up and sighed.

I sighed too. "I dunno, maybe he-" I was cut off by the pink phone ringing. Sherlock pulled it out and switched it to speaker. Lestrade stepped closer.

" _You're enjoying this, aren't you? Joining the... dots."_ The old woman started to sob. " _Three hours... boom...boom..."_ She cried in terror then the line went dead.

We looked at each other for a moment, Lestrade worried, Sherlock and I more intrigued than worried. Lestrade turned around and rubbed his face. I and Sherlock went back to the wall.

.

After a while, Mrs. Hudson came in with some tea and Sherlock called somebody. I watched him walking back and forth in front of the fire place, talking rather politely to whomever was on the other side of the phone. I was odd to see him like that. I noticed Lestrade watching him too. Lestrade then looked at me.

"Are you two..." He seemed uncomfortable. "Erm... dating?"

I smirked to cover my surprise at his question. "What gave you that idea?"

He looked back at Sherlock then to me again. "I dunno, he just seems... different with you."

"He's 'different' with John too. Maybe he just likes us more, for whatever reason." I laughed a bit.

Lestrade shook his head. "But you're a lot like him, Sherlock I mean. John's more like... just you're different." He was at loss.

It was quiet until Mrs. Hudson, who was gazing sadly at a picture of Connie spoke up.

"It was a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colors."

We turned to her. "Colors?" Lestrade asked.

"You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me."

"Ah." Lestrade nodded and I tried not to laugh. Sherlock finished his call and walked back to join us, staring at the wall.

"Who was that?" Lestrade asked him.

"Home Office."

"Home office?!" Lestrade said, surprised. I was too, slightly at least.

"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favor." He kept his gaze on the wall. I shook my head and chuckled.

Mrs. Hudson started talking about Connie again. "She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces! It's silly, isn't it?" She giggled and we smiled politely. She turned to Sherlock. "Did you ever see her show?"

"Not until now." He turned and opened his laptop and a video of Connie and a man started.

 _"You look pasty love!"_ Connie giggled.

 _"Ah. Rained every day but one."_ The man giggled back.

"That's the brother. No love lost there, if you can believe the papers." Mrs. Hudson informed us.

"So I gather. I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites - indispensable for gossip." Sherlock told her.

 _"There's really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don't you think, girls?"_ Connie started clapping and the audience started chanting 'off, off, off' and by the third off she started hitting her brother on the back. The brother grimaced but showed a fake smile and started to take his top off.

I hummed uncomfortably and walked back to the wall while they continued to watch the video. A minute later, Sherlock coughed and walked over to me, uncomfortable as well.

"Is he naked?" I whispered, looking over to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, who were still watching the video.

"As naked as he can be, on screen." Sherlock whispered back. We both laughed.

We gazed at the wall and listened to the video, a little disgruntled at what they were saying. Finally it was over and Lestrade came back behind us and Mrs. Hudson left the room.

Sherlock's phone then rang and he fished it out of his coat. I saw the I.D was John.

"John." He answered. Then- "I'll remember. Ok. Ok. Bye."

He hung up and started to pull his Belstaff on.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade stepped forward.

"Shopping. Come on Diane." He took my coat off the hook and held it out to me. I took it and we walked out, leaving an confused Lestrade behind.

"What kind of shopping are we doing?" I asked him once we stepped onto the pavement.

"Newspaper reporter stuff. Camera, important looking notepad and pen." He grinned.

"Ooh! Can I have a camera too?" I begged childishly.

Sherlock glanced over at me. "Maybe." He chuckled.

"I want to use a camera." I sighed as he hailed a cab.

...

The shop we went to was full of cameras, seeing as it was a camera shop. I bounced about, looking at every one and snapping a few pictures of Sherlock. I looked at one.

"You're awfully photogenic." I smirked. He came over to look. The camera had captured a rare one of Sherlock being annoyed. He snorted.

"Delete that."

"Hmm..." I went to the next one. Sherlock grabbed the camera and deleted the pictures, then put it back on the table.

"If you touch one more camera, I won't let you use one." He warned.

"If you insist." I sighed.

Sherlock then took my arm and led me across the store to a table with a very nice camera on display.

"This will work, don't you think?" He picked it up and looked through it.

"Yes." I muttered. He sighed and handed it to me.

"Go ahead."

I excitedly grabbed it and held it up. "Pretend to test another one out." I told him.

He glared at me, but still took another camera and held it up to his eye, pretending to take a picture of me. I snapped his photo.

"I might just put that on the mantelpiece." I grinned as I checked it. He curiously came over to look but I hid it. "You'll see it when it's printed."

"I take it that we'll be buying this camera, then?" He took another look at it.

"Yes. And one for you too." I smiled. He sighed again and grabbed the other things he needed along with another camera and we went up to the register.

After we paid I asked the man at the register if he could get the photo printed then. He did and I picked a standup frame it would fit in.

After I was done we walked out, Sherlock eyed my bag curiously. "Can I see it now?"

"Nope." I grinned as he sighed.

...

The ride to the Prince's house was short, and we were brought in by Raoul. He took us into the living room, where John and Kenny Prince were.

Sherlock shook Kenny's hand, looking closely at it as he did. "Ah. Mr. Prince, isn't it?"

"Yes." He smiled. I shook his hand as well.

"Very good to meet you." I smiled.

"Yes; thank you."

"So sorry to hear about.." Sherlock began.

"Yes, yes. Very kind." Kenny cut him off.

John stepped forward. "Shall we, er..." He gestured over to the sofa. We walked over and set down our bags, starting to rummage through them while John whispered what he had found out.

"You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock and I smirked. "Oh yes?" Sherlock whispered back.

"Yes."

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked.

"Um, yes." John looked at us, we had our cameras and flashguns ready. He gestured to the mantelpiece. "Can you...?"

Kenny leaned one arm on the mantelpiece. "Not too close, I'm raw from crying."

We started to take pictures, having great fun. A hairless cat wrapping itself around our legs stopped us for a moment.

"Oh! Who's this?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the animal, which I thought looked a bit scary.

"Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian Goddess."

"How nice. Was she Connie's?"

"Yes."

John went to pick it up but Kenny beat him to it. "Little present from yours truly."

John, frustrated, stood back up. "Sherlock, Diane? Uh, light reading?"

"Oh, um..." Sherlock lifted a second flashgun he was holding and fired it straight in Kenny's face.

"Two point eight." I said and we fired the flashguns so Kenny would keep his eyes shut while John reached out and rubbed the cat's paw.

"Bloody hell! What do you think you're playing at?" Kenny raised his voice.

"Sorry." Sherlock said as we kept firing the flash guns. John smelt his fingers where he had touched the cat.

"You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two! What's going on?" Kenny asked, annoyed.

"Actually, I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." John walked over to the sofa and grabbed the bag.

"What?" Kenny was now confused.

"Sherlock, Diane."

"What?" We asked, following after him.

"We've got deadlines."

"But you've not taken anything!" Kenny protested.

We ignored him and hurried out of the house, smiling.

John chuckled delightedly as we walked onto the road. "Yes! Ooh yes!"

Sherlock and I smiled knowingly. "You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat."

"What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. It's paws stink of disinfectant."

"Lovely idea." I smiled at him.

"No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet - bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have..."

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother." Sherlock interrupted.

John chuckled again. "He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?" We jokingly asked together.

"Didn't he?" John looked at us.

"No. It was revenge." I told him.

"Revenge? Who wanted revenge?" John asked.

"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so..."

John stopped and cut Sherlock off. "No, wait, wait. Wait a second." We stopped as well. "What about the disinfectant then, on the cat's claws?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it."

I giggled as John lifted his jacket and sniffed it.

Sherlock continued. "Raoul's internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here." He walked off in front of us, towards the main road.

John sighed and glared at Sherlock's back. I patted his shoulder.

"It's ok John, you'll solve one someday. Here, look at this." I reached into my bag and took the picture of Sherlock out. He took it from me.

"This is when you bought the cameras?" He asked, chuckling.

"Yeah, I got him to pose. I'm putting it on the mantelpiece." I chuckled too.

"Ooh, I can't wait!" We laughed.

"John, Diane!" We looked up and saw Sherlock waiting for us, cab beside him. John handed the picture back to me and we hurried over.

After we had piled in with all of our stuff, we headed off to Scotland Yard to tell Lestrade the case was solved and save the old woman.

...

 _Scotland Yard..._

 _._

 _._

.

We followed Sherlock into the main office. He brandished the folder on Connie Prince at Lestrade.

"Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince - it was botulinium toxin."

He set the folder on the desk and Lestrade reached for it. Sherlock leaned forward. "We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bombers repeated himself."

Lestrade started walking toward his office- we followed. "So how'd he do it?"

"Botox injection." I said, in step with Sherlock.

"Botox?" He turned back to look at us.

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinium. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering botox for months." Sherlock pointed to the folder then continued. "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"You sure about this?" Lestrade looked between us.

"I'm sure."

"All right - my office." We started to follow him in but John stopped us.

"Hey, Sherlock. How long?"

We turned. "What?"

"How long have you known?" He started to look angry.

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually." I told him.

"And like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake." Sherlock tried to turn but John stopped him.

"No, but Sherl... the hostage... the old woman. She's been there all this time."

Sherlock leaned closer to him. "I knew I could save her. I also knew the bomber had given us twelve hours. We solved the case quickly; that gave us time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!" He pulled me into Lestrade's office and sat down at the desk, opening his website page on the computer. He typed into the message box-

 _Raoul de Santos, the houseboy, botox._

He sent the message and the pink phone rang- almost instantly. Sherlock answered it but didn't put it on speaker, so we only heard our end.

"Hello?" "Tell us where you are. Address." "No, no, no. Tell me nothing about him- nothing!" "Hello?" He slowly lowered the phone with a shocked expression on his face, biting his lip.

"Sherlock?" We looked at him.

"Whats happened?" John asked.

Sherlock looked down and sighed. We realized what had happened - Lestrade put his hands on his face, John braced himself on the back of the chair and I placed my hand on Sherlock's arm and sighed. We all stood there in silence until Sherlock stood up and walked out, I went with him. John followed behind us.

The rest of the night was silent, aside from Sherlock playing mournful tunes on his violin.

 **...**

 _Morning at 221b..._

.

I, John and Sherlock were watching the news. They were saying the explosion was caused by a faulty gas main, killing twelve people.

"He certainly gets about." John remarked.

"Well, obviously I lost that round-" Sherlock muted the telly.

"Although technically we did solve the case." I reminded him.

"Hmm... He killed the old lady because she started to describe him." Sherlock went on. "Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?" John looked at him quizzically.

"Well, usually he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact."

"What... like the Connie Prince murder? He-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John was astounded.

I smiled slightly, what a genius idea, really. Sherlock apparently felt the same way. "Novel." He smiled a bit, face full of admiration.

John looked at us in amazement, then focused back on the television.

"Huh." I looked up to see the news showing a different story now- the Connie Prince murder. We watched the police shove Raoul into a police car then the camera went up to show Kenny watching from a window, holding Sekhmet.

Sherlock looked down at the pink phone, which was beside him, on the arm of his chair. "Taking his time this time." He remarked.

"Hmm." I agreed,

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John asked, after coughing uncomfortably.

"Nothing. All living classmates check out spotless. No connections." Sherlock sighed.

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

"The thought had occurred."

"So why's he doing this, then - playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?"

Sherlock smiled. "I think he wants to be distracted."

"Ha!" I whispered, smiling a bit myself. "Very novel..."

John looked at me for a moment, then Sherlock. He stood up and went towards the kitchen. "Well, I hope you are happy together."

"Sorry, what?" I asked, at the same time as Sherlock.

John turned, furious, and braced his hands on the back of his chair. "There are lives at stake, Sherlock, actual human lives. And Diane, you listen too."

My head snapped up. He continued. "Just - just so I know, do either of you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them save them?" I asked him, irritated.

"Nope."

"Then we will continue not to make that mistake." Sherlock added.

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?"

John shook his head. "No. No." They locked eyes for a moment.

"I've disappointed you." Sherlock realized.

"That's good- that's a good deduction, yeah." John said sarcastically.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exsit, and if they did, I-" He looked over at me, figuring something. "- and Diane, wouldn't be one of them."

I sighed. Of course, bring me into it more. They maintained eye contact until the pink phone suddenly pinged an alert.

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed. I went over to get a better look. The phone sounded one short pip and one long one. Then a photograph appeared. A river bank.

"View of Thames. South Bank - somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo."

He reached into his jacket for his own phone and started to search.

"You two check the papers; I'll look online."

I moved over to the table and started going through the papers. John still hadn't moved. Sherlock noticed.

"Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help."

John shrugged.

"Not much cop, this caring lark." Sherlock clicked the k. I smirked. John stood there, then sighed and came over to help me with the papers.

He started to read headlines as he went through them. "Archway suicide."

"Ten a penny." Sherlock snapped.

"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington." John set the paper down and picked up another.

"Ah. Man found on train line- Andrew West."

"Nothing!" Sherlock exclaimed, then hit speed dial on his phone, impatiently waiting for someone, Lestrade, I guess, to answer.

I sighed, not finding anything useful, and leaned back, watching Sherlock.

"It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"... "Yes! Thank you."..."Ok, bye."

He stood up and stuck the phone in his pocket.

"He found something?" I asked, standing up too.

"Yes, come on, let's go." Sherlock walked over to the door and started to put his coat on.

"Excellent!" I went to put my coat on as well.

"Coming John?" Sherlock looked over at John, who was having trouble with what he should do. He sighed. "Yes. Yes." John stood up and grabbed his jacket.

We all dashed out, the brisk outside air and excitement of a new case making adrenaline start to pump through our veins.

"Taxi!"

 _ **...**_

 ** _OK here's the link:_** SHERLOCK VIDS! playlist?list=PLN_56VmE5Zuj84asEGrVYt4al1w2NSzon

 _ **Enjoy! ps.. sorry for any typos, bad wording, and anything British I got wrong, if you know what I mean.**_


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